


Blue and yellow don´t always make green

by sunnylouu



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Louis, Famous Harry, M/M, Non-Famous Louis, Sadness, Tons of color metaphors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnylouu/pseuds/sunnylouu
Summary: His world has always been ruled by one color a day. But then someone comes along and leaves too many questions with not nearly enough answers, and it feels like there aren´t enough colors to paint what he feels.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. When Blue met Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing something so please be nice? I also don´t have a beta so any mistakes are my own fault!!  
> PD: it is a work in progress and I´m sorry if I take too long to update!! Hope you enjoy anyways<3
> 
> This is for and thanks to S. My guardian angel, you give me courage and inspire me to do things I never thought I would. Thank you so much and I love you with all my stars.

Moodboard by the lovely @onlytheblouis <3

Fuck art and its taste for thriving through chaos.

That's the main thought running around Blue´s head while he furiously washes his paint utensils. Fuck art for feeding on pain, for inspiration to rest sound asleep until some sort of tragedy occurs and it awakens on its full glory and decides it´s time to take over and make him spend all of his time trying to portray things he doesn´t fully understand. He has experienced the madness artists are known for before, the consuming need to create and make his emotions something tangible. He has found inspiration hidden in dark alleys, in stranger´s frowns and broken things that have been long forgotten because they are no longer useful. But this, this scorching rush that runs through his veins and has been keeping him up for the past 3 days, this is something new.

All of his life, art had been a way of giving an out to the turmoil that was his brain. Sweet or harsh or barely there, endless strokes of brushes where his best allies for giving life to the endless ideas that roamed his mind. It was something to appease his tired brain, to give him some sense of order and accomplishment. Turns out, some other people found these things interesting enough that they chose to buy them and help him make a living out of it. But it had always been for himself. He was sufficiently aware of his privilege, enough to admit that he had never had to make complying his priority. He never had had a public to please, a goal to meet or someone to amaze. But what felt so different this time and what made his blood boil, was that every single piece he had painted over the past weeks had felt like trying to prove a point he didn't even understand to someone who wasn't even looking.

The same someone, he thought bitterly, who had gone away leaving all of his questions and not nearly enough answers. The same someone who was sound asleep in some other place of the world, not caring about the sleepless nights he was causing. And the thing is, Blue couldn´t even hate him. How could he? He was just a boy, carelessly wandering, enchanting everyone around him and having half the world orbit him through his erratic route around the universe. He was too bright of a star to see anywhere beyond his light, to care for anything that his rays didn´t touch. And Blue understood the emptiness one feels when you´ve had everything you thought you ever wanted, when fulfilling your wildest dreams feels just like a tick of a list on a crumpled paper that has lost the emotion with which it was written. He understood the need to run when your feelings become so heavy they begin to weigh you down. He understood, but he couldn't help the ugly feeling at the pit of his stomach, with the incessant chorus of questions he couldn't have answered even if he tried. Had it ever been real? Could he have imagined it all? Had he not been enough? Was he ever going to be enough? Could they ever be enough?

A loud clank rang through his studio and interrupted the daily string of unanswered questions. He wasn't even surprised, was the thing. He had figured he had only a limited amount of time until his friends grew tired of his hermitage complex and went to find him and drag him out into the real world. So he prepared himself for the encounter, steeling his expression into something less manic and tried to recall the answers he had been rehearsing for this exact moment. Yes, I´ve been eating alright. Yes, I´ve been getting enough sleep. No, don´t worry, I´ve watered all the plants and the cat is still alive somewhere. Yes, I´ve answered my mom's texts, I´m not a monster. Yes, I still remember the gala and I´m not cancelling, no need to get your knickers all twisted. Yes, I´ve been working on some new stuff, but you can't see it yet. What about you?

Sarah looks at him with an arched brow and a slightly impressed look in her eyes. “Did you rehearse all of those answers?” “Of course I didn´t, how would I have been able to know what you were going to ask me? I know I´m quite awesome but my talents don´t include predicting the future, yet.” Sarah scoffs, clearly not amused by his antics. However, a tiny smile makes its appearance and she cautiously wraps him in a warm hug. “I've missed you” she whispers softly. “I know you don't want to talk about it, but I can see it in your paintings. Or more precisely, I can see the lack of _it_ in your paintings.”

It feels as though the whole world has come to a sudden stop.

“So what you´re saying is that now that the superstar is gone I can't paint anymore? That I should weep around like I just lost my loving husband to the cold cruel war? Let me remind you that I had been painting for a very long time before he came around and that I am perfectly capable of doing it again even if he´s not around with his stupid lyrics and quirky Instagram captions…”

Blue lets his rant fade when he sees the slight sparkle of victory in Sarah's eyes, quickly dampened by her hurt face at his defensive attitude. “I never said talent was what was missing. I just meant to say you haven't been using your favorite colors, so I figured there must be something troubling you. But I guess now I know what that something is.”

Blue feels the embarrassment tinge his cheeks a dark red as he lowers his gaze to try to salvage the last bits of the thoughts that didn´t get out in his aggressive rant. He mumbles out a “Sorry, Sarah”, so low at first he thinks she didn't listen. But then her arms are around him again and he lets himself sink into the warm embrace, resting his head on her shoulders and trying not to sob as she starts running her hands through his disheveled hair. He knows, without her having to say it, that she's not mad and that she's only trying to take care of him.

“Can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer if you don't want to” she quickly adds when she feels his body tense.

“Okay” he whispers, hoping with his whole being he's not about to hear his name again for the first time in weeks (or months?).

“What's your color today?” is what comes out of Sarah's mouth instead.

The unexpected question leaves him speechless for more than one reason. It's not that he doesn't understand what she means or why she's asking it, it's just that he just realized, he hasn´t had a new color in what feels like ages. He's just Blue, not even a different shade or a slightly different tone. Just the same old blue, one he never uses anymore.

It started when they were kids. Sarah was this bright shining presence, luring everyone into lending her their favorite toys and letting her choose the tastiest sweet. He was the exact opposite. He never got what he wanted, because most of the time he didn't even know what he wanted. His feelings bottled up inside him until he exploded, crying and wailing until his mom had to go pick him up. And it was Sarah who had first come up with the idea. She had noticed how he would go around picking tiny pebbles, flowers, leaves or anything he could find in the specific color he was fixated on for the day. So Sarah started asking him “what's your favorite color today?” every single day. Soon, they found his daily color had a lot to say about how he was feeling and what he was willing to do for the day. As they grew older, his daily colors evolved and found new ways of making themselves present. Whether it was his socks, a clip on his hair or a hair tie around his wrist (Sarah had gifted him a big bag with hair ties in every color she had managed to find), each day was specifically tinted and catalogued. And, as expected, his colors had found their way into his art. A garden filled with delicate pink flowers, a pair of eyes in every possible shade of brown, light coming through a half open window that made the whole room look golden. You could always know which his favorite color was the day any specific painting was made.

So when Sarah asks him what's his favorite color today, Blue doesn't know.

That's how she noticed, he thinks numbly while scanning his studio. When she said he wasn’t using his favorite colors, she didn´t mean his canvas were all grey and monotone. If they had only been grey, that would have meant there had been a lot of days with grey as his color. But they were quite the opposite. Erratic splashes of color ran through every single one of his canvas. Rainbow gardens and multicolored eyes were staring right back at him, with no focus on any specific color on any single one of them. It looked as if he hadn't been able to decide on the infinite available options and he had just tried putting every single existing color into each of his paintings.

“I don´t know”, Blue whispers, hugging Sarah more tightly to steady himself as the realization hits him. “I don't know which is my favorite color today.”

* * *

The day he met him, his color changed to green.

It wasn´t the first time he switched colors in the middle of the day. Sometimes something too important happened to be able to confine himself to his usual one-per-day rule. So he just switched and made a promise to himself to capture it on a canvas later. He always kept track of things that were important enough to make him change his color.

What he couldn't have expected, was the panic he felt when he couldn't decide which color he was going to change to. Was it going to be the atrocious orange of his oversized cardigan? He scrunched his nose up just thinking about it. It was so ugly it would definitely be a challenge to use it to create something pretty that didn't make you want to cremate the whole thing. Or maybe he could choose the bright pink of his lips and cheeks, he thought. Classic, soft and still fun enough to feel new. Or maybe his brown curls? Even from there he could see there were some lighter strands he could use to play with the lightning. Maybe if he used brown in the right way he could make it look more alive…

“Why Blue?” the deep voice interrupted his quickly spiraling mind.

As his mind tried to understand the unprompted question, he realized he had been staring at the stranger´s hair for an inappropriate amount of time. And when he directed his eyes to the strangers´ face, all he could think of was green. How did he manage to miss it? Big, shiny eyes, with dancing shades of green and grey and the tiniest bit of blue.

“I´m sorry?”

“Your name tag. It says Blue. Is Blue really your name?”

“Oh!” he felt so stupid. He was so caught up trying to decide on a color that he had managed to completely forget the fact that he was supposed to be working and getting this man´s order. “No, my name´s not really Blue. But my first day here I was so nervous that when they asked me my name I just blurted out blue cause there was a beautiful butterfly outside the window and then I just never corrected them? But it's okay I like blue so you can call me that.”

By the end of his breathless speech there was an amused smile tugging at the corners of the strangers´ mouth. “Do you always share this much with strangers or did I just happen to come in on a lucky day?”

Blue felt himself getting redder by the second. He always did this, that was the thing. He babbled on and on, unprompted, not even following a certain train of thought. His dad used to say his most impressive talent was to be able to talk for hours without saying anything remotely interesting.

“I´m not complaining, though.”

“What?” he had got so lost in his nervousness that he had forgotten he had been asked a question.

“I don´t mind you talking. I´d like to hear more about that blue butterfly, even.”

“Why would you want to hear more about a butterfly you didn't even see?” Blue asked, completely baffled by why this stranger was still talking to him.

“You see, Blue, I´ve spent so much time listening to people talk about so many unimportant things I can't even remember the last time someone mentioned a butterfly, let alone it be so important someone got his name because of it. And even if I wasn't here to see the butterfly, you were, and you can tell me all about it. I just have one favor to ask.”

The words were said in a calm and steady way, but Blue couldn't help but notice the sad glint in the man's eyes. If a conversation about a long time gone butterfly was this interesting for him, he was kind of worried about the life this man was living. But who was he to judge?

“Sure, what is it?”

“Can I have a color name too?”

Blue panicked. Why did he feel like if he said green this man was going to know how long he had been trying to classify the green of his eyes? But maybe if he said brown he was going to get offended. Or maybe pink?

“Yellow” he finally settled on. It was a safe, pretty color and if he asked, he could blame it on the tiny yellow flowers littering the sleeves of his atrocious orange cardigan.

The man, now Yellow, beamed as if he had just gotten the biggest present under the Christmas tree. Once again, Blue couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for this guy´s life. How could a color given by a stranger be that exciting? However, Yellow´s energy was contagious and he couldn't help but smile back.

“Now, Blue, tell me all about that butterfly.”

Hours later, after Yellow had finished his 3 cups of tea and many more customers had come and gone, after Blue had rambled on for hours about pretty much anything but said butterfly and Yellow hadn't interrupted him once, after he had gone home and had spent hours in front of a new canvas, he found the exact combination of blue and yellow to create the green in the stranger's eyes.

* * *

After that day, Yellow came back religiously to the cafe Blue worked at every Saturday. Every week he would enter the establishment looking like he had made a conscious effort to pick the ugliest, strangest looking sweater humankind had ever crafted. It was a complete contradiction to his whole being and Blue couldn´t be more endeared by it.

By now, Blue had learned a few things about Yellow from his weekly visits: Yellow was an excellent listener, the kind of person whose eyes light up and makes you feel like there's a whole audience interested in what you´re saying, but that at the same time brings intimacy and a silent promise to cherish your words as the most precious secret. He found the simplest things to be the most interesting ones, asking Blue incredibly specific questions about anything that crossed his mind and sometimes even scribbling his answers down. Some of his favorite ones yet were:

“Blue, what color is the word ´flabbergasted´”?

“What would fluffy clouds taste like?”

“Have you ever heard a color?”

“Do you think different flavors of tea have different personalities? Do you think the least popular ones ever get sad?” (After this one, they had made a vow to always choose the most sad looking tea and comment on how delicious it was).

“Have you ever met someone that made you want to find a new color just so you can give it to them?” (You, Blue thought. You are all colors at once and none at all).

“Do you think loneliness has a sound? Or is it just quiet?”

And so, Blue had learned Yellow was filled to the brim with questions. Sometimes he wanted an answer and he would be bratty and annoying until he finally got one that would please him. But there were some other times when he would whisper his questions as if just letting them out, opening the possibility of getting an answer, was painful and scary. Those were the days when Blue would ramble the most. He would talk about the never ending blossoming cycle of the flowers on his windowsill, about the songs he was trying to make the local birds sing with him and how much he loved cotton candy and it's unexplainable texture. He omitted how sad was watching his beloved flowers die, how watching birds fly made him long for sceneries he had never seen and how cotton candy reminded him of his late grandma. On the days where Yellow was everything but yellow, he kept every single thought that felt too blue to be shared that day. So he did what he did best, and he painted the world in beautiful, bright colors to try to help this curious man to rest for a bit and stop trying to understand everything.

Blue had also learned that Yellow kept a journal. What he wrote there was still a mystery, but he knew better than to ask. Despite his apparent eagerness to know everything, Yellow was the most private person he had ever met. For every question he asked, he raised a thousand more, all of which he left unnoticed and unanswered. But strangely enough, Blue never felt like he was being asked too much, and he never felt the need to push and demand some sort of explanation. Just getting to hear his questions felt like a privilege sometimes. In some sad way, the best answers he got about Yellow were through his questions.

And so they kept on, getting to know each other through their thoughts on the irrelevant things that mattered the most to them. ´Why bother with asking someone about his job when you can know what his favorite type of melon is? ´ Yellow would jokingly ask. And it sometimes scared Blue, how willing he was to give an hour-long speech on why mint green was way better than rose-gold, and how impossible it seemed to pinpoint or even try to guess what Yellow did for a living. What if he was an assassin? But then Yellow would ask how the fluffy end of bunny tails´ should be called and he would realize how impossible that was. And in the grand scheme of things, he guessed it didn't matter. Someone who was as good as a listener as him and that had deemed him worthy enough to endure his irrelevant rambles couldn´t be dangerous at all.

What Blue had not understood yet, was that Yellow had too many questions, and that one day, the heaviness of the unanswered ones would be too much for them both to carry.

* * *

Blue didn't hate people. He avoided them, sure, but he didn't actually hate them. He just hated the memories strangers brought and how powerless he felt. He knew he was supposed to be happy, talking about his exhibited art and giving the guests the explanations they wanted. But the only thing he kept thinking was how everyone was asking the wrong questions. Why was nudity such a big deal? Why did it matter if it was a woman or a man that was standing in the rain? Did they really need to know the giggling couple´s names? He hated even more how clouded his brain was with all the answers he had but couldn't give because no one was asking. Why did no one want to talk about how he had finally managed to make brown look pretty? Was it even possible nobody noticed the way the lady´s earrings matched perfectly with the butterfly flying past the window?

Sarah must have seen in his face he was about to lose it, cause soon she was excusing herself and gently dragging him through an open door to one of the balconies. It was a beautiful night in a beautiful salon, filled with elegantly dressed people who had attended to look at his art and raise money for charity.

“How did you know I needed rescuing?”

“You were starting to look like that angry cat that you painted stepping on your poor flowers. Figured the patrons would find the resemblance sooner or later and ask if you had painted a self-portrait so I wanted to save you from the embarrassment.”

Blue huffed out a laugh and rested his head on Sarah´s shoulder. “Thanks” he mumbled. “I know I should be happy and I know this is all for me, but some days I just feel like nobody's looking at my paintings. Especially when they are being scrutinized by so many people.”

“And it´s stupid, isn´t it?” he rushed out before Sarah could say anything, “cause he never even knew I was an artist. He never saw any of my paintings, but it felt as if I had painted them all through his eyes. They were born from his questions and I can't help but wonder if he would´ve found enough answers in them to stay.” 

Sarah stayed quiet for a few seconds, thinking about what he just said. Eventually, she ended up carefully saying: “I don't think any of the answers he needed to stay were the ones you could give him, love.”

“So you think I wasn’t enough for him to stay?”

“No, absolutely not. What I mean is, you gave him more answers than anyone else ever had. But the questions he didn't ask were the ones that made him leave, I think. Maybe he was scared of what you could say, maybe he knew you couldn't have answered them even if you tried. It was not about whether you were enough for him or not, and you know it. You wouldn't have let him go without a fight if that had been the case.”

“I just wish I could have done something, you know? Help him a bit more, pay a little more attention to his questions.”

“You helped him with everything he let himself be helped with. Whatever he decided to keep for himself is not your responsibility, and if he thought that hiding it was worth losing you, then it probably wasn't even worth knowing.”

After this, Blue stayed silent. He couldn't imagine anything hidden that was bad enough to dampen his love for Yellow. If anything, it made him ache with how much he loved the broken boy and how badly he wanted to know what was wrong so he could fix it. And as he had been doing for months now, he sent a silent prayer to whatever was out there, to whoever could be listening, to take care of him. A soul as bright as his was bound to attract light-hungry predators and he could just pray and hope that Yellow would be strong enough not to let them take it from him.

“Are you ready to go back inside?” came Sarah´s soft question from where she was still hugging him close.

“Yeah, I think so. Thank you, for everything.”

“Anytime babes.”

As Sarah gently guided him back inside, he tried to compose himself to be able to talk with all the possible buyers and guests, but he couldn't help his mind from spiraling. Maybe him trying to fit all possible colors into the same painting was just another one of his prayers, was just him trying to give Yellow all the colors he had been missing. And maybe that was more of an answer to himself than it would ever have been to Yellow.


	2. When Louis met Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A super short chapter but I wanted to get it out before I regretted everything I had written. Hopefully not as sad as the previous one (: Hope you enjoy!!  
> PD: again no beta so any mistakes are on me!!

It was one of their Saturdays when Yellow told him he liked him for the first time. He probably didn´t mean it in a romantic way, but Blue´s heart stopped for a few solid seconds and then started beating so fast he thought he was going to faint.

“You what?” Blue weakly got out.

“I like you, especially the way your brain works” Yellow said without lifting his gaze from his journal.

“What is that supposed to mean? Does it not work like a normal brain?”

“I´m not saying you´re dumb, if that´s what you´re asking. But you look at the world with a different lens, as if all of us were missing some type of equipment to be able to see things the way you do. And it´s fascinating.”

Blue stared at him hard and unblinking until Yellow looked at him. “Do you need anything?” he sassily asked.

“Let me get this straight. You´re saying MY brain works in a ´different´ way, when not even an hour ago you were asking me if I had ever wanted to become a mushroom.”

“It was a genuine question!”

“Which further proves my point.”

Yellow let out an exasperated sigh and closed his journal, placing his elbows on the table and leaning towards Blue.

“I already told you it's not a bad thing. I just meant that you see things I would have never noticed, that's all.”

“Please elaborate.”

“Alright. What's the prettiest thing you´ve seen today?”

“Easy. Did you see the mommy who came in like 2 hours ago? The one with the giggling baby?”

“Yeah, what about them?”

“She had chosen the same socks for both her and her baby. She looked so proud of it and she smiled every single time she looked at the little footsies.”

“See? That's exactly what I mean. You notice things, you pay attention and read people and find beauty in daily things no one else would even know are there.”

“Maybe that´s just the way the world is, darling. Maybe it's all tons of daily insignificant things strung together.”

“Maybe, but I think what those things mean depends on who is looking at them. And I do believe you look at everything through a pink heart-shaped lens of love and kindness.”

Blue let out an unbelieving laugh, endlessly endeared by Yellow´s words.

“Oh yeah? What does your lens look like then? A polka dotted mushroom?”

Instead of laughing and telling him to fuck off, Yellow gave him a tight lipped smile and a self-deprecating shrug. “I don't think the way I look at the world matters much, to be honest. Either way, I can't change any of it.” After this, he went back to scribbling away on his journal, body language closed and gaze far away.

Blue kept thinking about these words for the rest of the day, while he attended customers and joked around with their most frequent clients. What had happened to Yellow to believe the way he saw things didn't matter at all? He wasn't too shy, he was funny and witty and so interesting with all of his questions and the way he wanted to understand everything. He was easy to talk to, he was outrageously handsome (something he had tried to forget multiple times but was cruelly reminded to him every time they met) and he walked the earth like he owned nothing to no one. But sometimes this loud and energetic persona would melt and Blue could see the uncertainness underneath, the way he flinched in crowds and how he bit his lip to refrain himself from asking a certain question. It didn't make sense, and it was driving him crazy. But he treasured the bits of him he got to know far too much to try and pressure him for more. Someday, he told himself. Someday I'll know what's holding him back.

Until then, all he could do was look at him from the other side of the cafe and try to memorize the exact color of his new nail polish to try and paint it later. Surprisingly enough, Yellow had never asked him about the paint stains in his hands and clothes. He figured it was his way of letting him decide if it was something he wanted to share, the same way Blue never asked what was inside of his journal. And it wasn't as if Blue was embarrassed of his art, precisely. He knew he was good, but he also knew his feelings were always painfully obvious in his paintings. The things he hated, the things he liked, and the things he loved were all featured in them. And he was scared Yellow was going to look at them and find himself looking back. 

* * *

  
  


The day Blue found out who Yellow was, his color turned white. 

It started out as a normal Saturday for them, which meant Blue attending customers and sitting down for a few minutes with Yellow on every chance he got. It meant silly conversations, teasing and the warmth of the routine they had created. When his break came, Blue was more than ready to tell Yellow all about the week, as his family had come visit him. 

“Did you know caterpillars completely dissolve themselves in the process of becoming butterflies? They´re basically just living liquid floating around while they rearrange themselves. Isn't that so cool?”

“Yes darling, and exactly what I want to hear right before I eat my lunch, thank you very much for the lovely visual.”

Yellow looked up looking a bit embarrassed and mumbled out a quiet ´Sorry´ before scooting over so Blue could sit next to him. “How was your week? I know your family came to visit you.”

Blue´s eyes sparkled as he excitedly started talking about his sisters and his little brother, babbling on about how the oldest were apparently cooler than him now and how he needed ´updates on the modern world´. Yellow just listened and smiled, basking in the contagious energy radiating from Blue. 

“They actually made a new playlist for me, wanna give it a listen? I´m connected to the cafe´s speakers but they said it´s public friendly so…”

“Yeah sure, let's give it a go”.

They continued their conversation while soft music flowed through the speakers, setting a light and happy mood. Or at least it was, until suddenly Yellow yelped and dropped his cup to the floor, splashing tea all over them. 

“Are you okay? What happened?” Blue asked frantically, grabbing tissues to try to clean the other boy a bit. 

“Nothing, I´m alright,” Yellow said through gritted teeth, holding his burned hand to his chest and trying not to cry. 

“What the hell do you mean nothing? Come with me, we have to take care of that hand.”

Yellow followed him reluctantly to the back of the shop after they finished cleaning up the tea and shattered cup mess, apologizing to the closest customers. Once they were in the back and the music and conversations had faded to a low hum, Yellow relaxed a bit. 

“Wanna tell me what that was about?” Blue asked without looking at him while he carefully coated his burned hand with aloe vera gel. 

“What do you mean?” asked Yellow, body tense and trying to keep his voice from wavering. 

“I mean, you don't usually go around dropping scorching hot tea on me, so I figured I must have done something. Was it something I said?”

“Of course not! I´m really sorry and you know I would never hurt you on purpose.”

“What was it, then?”

“Uh…” Yellow started saying just as a loud yell calling for Blue was heard from the front of the cafe. 

“Just a second” said Blue before going back to the front of the shop. A few minutes later he came back with his phone in his hand. “Sorry about that, it was my co-worker. She asked me to put another song from one of the artists my sisters put in the playlist. I´m trying to find the album but I just…” 

Yellow knew the exact moment Blue had found the album without needing him to say it. He saw the way Blue´s whole body tensed and the way his head tilted in confusion, pretty blue eyes trying to make sense of what he was watching on the screen. As he saw the realization hit him, he braced himself for what was coming. Was it gonna be anger? Was he gonna call him a liar and ask him never to come back again? Or was he going to try and take advantage of it? Or maybe-

“So your real name is Harry, huh?”

“What?”

“Your real name? I mean I figured I couldn't call you Yellow forever, but I was waiting for you to tell me your real name whenever you felt comfortable. I can keep calling you Yellow if you want me to, though....”

“Wait, are you not mad at me?” he asked, absolutely perplexed at the way Yellow was babbling on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He waited until Yellow lifted his head and held his gaze, confused and worried and maybe, a little bit hopeful. 

“I mean, no? I just wish I had met you before you released this because let me tell you, pink is definitely not your best colour.” 

“Heyyyyy!”

“I'm joking! I love it and it looks completely like you.”

Harry kept looking at Yellow in stunned silence, waiting and scanning his face as if he was suddenly going to grow a second head. With a sigh, Yellow reached for him and took his burned hand between his own to continue applying the gel. Once he was a bit more relaxed, he started speaking again. 

“Look, I´m not going to lie. You´ve been coming here every Saturday for like, two months now? And you've never told me or anyone else your name. You´re always on your own, you didn't want to meet my family and you always refuse to go out with any of my other friends and me. So I kinda figured you were trying to keep a low profile. I didn´t know if you were running from the law or something like that, but I figured you were harmless enough that I could wait for you to come clean on your own, when you felt comfortable enough” he quietly said as he finished taking care of his hand. After a few moments of silence, when it became clear Harry was too stunned to say anything, he asked: “Does it still hurt?”

“No, it's pretty numb now, thank you.”

“No worries hun” Blue said as he started picking up everything to put the first aid kit back where it belonged. Harry just kept on looking at him, eyes wondering and body stiff and cautious. Just as he thought Blue was going to leave again and pretend nothing had happened, he spoke again: “Oh and by the way, it´s Louis.”

“What?” Harry asked for what felt like the millionth time in the past hour. 

“My name? I figured now that I know yours, it's only fair that you know mine too. You can keep calling me Blue if you want to, but now you know.” 

“Oh”, was everything Harry could say. Louis just smiled warmly at him and started walking towards the front of the cafe. 

“You can… You can call me H, if you'd like? I haven't been recognized yet and I know there must be a ton of other people called Harry but, I don´t wanna risk it. Is that okay?” he nervously asked, fiddling with his sleeves. 

“Of course it is okay. Whatever you want darling.” Louis said while rubbing a comforting hand on his back. “Now, why don't we have another cup of tea? Just don´t drop it this time, please.”

As the rest of the day went by, Harry gradually relaxed until they were bantering and talking as if nothing had happened. When they said their goodbyes, it could´ve been as any other day, except for the tiny “goodbye Louis” and “goodbye H” they exchanged. 

Louis´ day had started a bright yellow, as it usually was on Saturdays when he knew Yellow (now Harry) was going to be there. But after the events of today, he felt a pure white. There was not a single color that could encompass everything he was feeling. Not the surprise, or the slight hurt when he realized Harry had not trusted him enough to tell him. Not even the understanding that came with the new knowledge of what Harry had been running from, of why he felt like the way he saw the world was insignificant. This one answer gave him the tools to answer so many of his previous questions, but raised a thousand more. So the only color he could use today was white. All of the colors at once and none at all. 

That night he came back to his flat and painted a picture of a lonely boy, all dressed in white high-waisted trousers and with a blank stare, looking at the nothingness that surrounded him. As he added the final brushes to his painting, he wondered what Harry would paint around him if he had the chance to create a world of his own.


	3. My safest haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m back! Sorry it took me so long to update, I´ve been super busy with school. Again, no beta so any mistakes are my own fault. Hope you enjoy!!<3

After that, things started to change. Harry would still come to the cafe every Saturday, they would still talk and carefully choose the tea they would hype up that day. But now that Louis knew who he was, everything was a bit clearer. 

Harry lived in a world where everyone knew who he was, but no one cared enough to answer his questions. He had traveled to more places that Louis could ever dream of, but hadn't been able to properly enjoy any of them. The world knew everything about him, but he didn't know a thing about the world. He was the center of it and an outsider at the same time, a walking contradiction that made him ache for something not even all his money could ever buy. 

His way of curling into himself, as if trying to disappear and draw the least possible attention made a lot more sense, or at least the most it could for someone who lighted up every room he walked into (even if he tried not to). His confidence and insecurity, his bluntness and shyness. He was black and white at the same time, paired with every possible colour in between. If Louis had trouble painting him before, now that he actually knew more about him it felt like an impossible task. (Not that it had stopped him from trying, though. If Harry ever walked into his studio he would most definitely report him to the police for harassment and deep dangerous obsession because of the amount of canvases he was in). 

They never talked about it directly again, but Harry started dropping tiny facts about his life that he never had before. He would casually mention some after party, some famous friend or something that had happened at a concert, and Louis´ heart would grow and swell with the pride he felt for being able to make him that comfortable, for being at the receiving end of such trust. He never wanted to stop being the person Harry seeked for comfort in the middle of his hectic and chaotic life. He had never seen himself as a safe place, but if he could be it for someone (and someone as special as Harry, on top of everything), he was going to try his very damn best to be the best safe place he could.

And as the trust between them grew, so did his feelings for Harry. He was quickly running out of reasons not to dive into the newfound love, and finding it increasingly harder to try to brush it off as a platonic feeling. He didn't know much about love, but he was pretty sure spending sleepless nights thinking about what colour Harry´s kisses would feel like wasn´t normal friend behaviour. He wasn't embarrassed of his feelings, as he was sure something so pure could never be a bad thing. But he was absolutely terrified of Harry thinking he only liked him now that he knew how famous he was, as if he was some kind of gold or clout digger. It clawed at his heart to think Harry could ever think that way of him, but he knew in his world that was a common thing to happen, one that he had experienced and suffered before. And he was even more scared of Harry knowing he had wanted him ever since that first ugly sweater, a long time before he even had a name that wasn´t Yellow. 

And so they kept on with this blooming thing between their chests, both hiding but wanting to be seen, in a contradiction that made them feel like they had it all and nothing at the same time. Sometimes Louis was sure Harry felt the same, with the way he listened to his rambling and how his eyes shone brighter every time they crossed his. But there were other times when he would remember who Harry was, how he could have literally anyone he wanted, and it felt so out of reach and so impossible he would get mad at himself for even considering it as a possibility. 

These same thoughts were the ones plaguing his mind on a rainy Thursday afternoon when Harry finally snapped at him. They had been silently taking their teas, Louis reading and Harry writing, occasionally sharing something with the other. But as the sky grew stormier, Louis´ mood did too, and he found himself getting more and more worried about Harry being there. How could he choose to be there with him, just sitting in the same place they did everytime? Sure he had more interesting things to do other than lose his time with a failing artist. What if Harry had wanted to leave for hours but was too polite to say it? 

“Okay, that's it. What the hell is wrong with you?” came Harry´s exasperated voice, slamming his journal on the table between them, scaring Louis and making him jump in his seat a little. 

“I´m sorry?” he stammered out. 

Harry rolled his eyes and gave him a pointed look. “You know what I'm talking about. You´ve been sulking the entire day and every time I try to talk to you you gave me curt answers and won't even look me in the eye.”

“That is not true”, Louis quickly said, but unable to meet Harry´s eyes. 

“Lou, I just…” he could hear how Harry´s voice went softer, anger dissipating and going unsure. “If you don't want me to be here anymore I'll understand, I just want to know what happened?”

Louis had never turned his head up faster in his entire life. He felt terribly guilty now that he knew Harry had noticed, and he hated himself for making Harry feel unwanted. As if there was any moment of the day when he didn't want him around. 

“Hey, Haz, no. Stop that. Please, look at me?” he asked, as softly as he could and waiting for Harry to reluctantly meet his eye before he started talking again. “It's not you, I promise. I am sorry I made you feel that way, okay?”

“Then what is it?” Harry asked, much calmer but still that sad look in his eyes. “Do you not trust me enough?”

“Haz…”

“Which is completely fine! I am sorry I know you owe me nothing and I shouldn't have said that, I just meant that…”

“Harry, would you please stop talking for one second?” this finally seemed to work and shut Harry up enough for Louis to give him an endeared look before he got an approving and sheepish nod. “Good, thank you. Now, as I was saying. It's got nothing to do with you and it's not that I don't trust you, okay? I'm just… It´s stupid, okay? And I got embarrassed and didn't want to talk to you about it cause I know it´s stupid. But I can tell you, if you want me to?”

“Yes, please”, Harry eagerly nodded, putting his elbows on his knees and tilting all of his body forward to show him he was paying attention. Louis sighed, running a hand through his face and thinking ´here goes nothing´. 

“So, I know we don't really talk about this, but it's got to do about this whole you being an international superstar thing”, Harry´s face immediately scrunched up and Louis rushed before he got the chance to say anything: “and like, I'm not saying it's a bad thing and I know you hate your famous image. It's got nothing to do about that or the idea the media has of you, I promise.”

“What is it, then?” came Harry´s voice, guarded and careful. Louis sighed again. 

“This has got more to do with me than it does with you, so don't take it to heart okay? I've just been wondering, why are you here? Not that I don't want you here, you know that I´d spend every single day with you if I could”, they both blushed at this, but Louis kept on going before he lost his courage. “But what I mean is, you´ve got the whole world at your feet. You've got the money, the looks, the fame. You could be anywhere you could dream of with anyone you could ever want, but instead you´re here with me. And I love it, don´t get me wrong, I love spending time with you, but I can't help but wonder why? You sure got some more interesting places to be, right?” As soon as he finished his rant, he looked up from where he had been looking at his tea avoiding Harry´s eyes, and was surprised to find him already looking at him, with a fire in his gaze he had never seen before. He had seen Harry excited, sad, being passionate about things. But this was pure anger, lighting his cheeks in a deep red and making his usually timid gaze scorching and unwavering. He gulped. “Harry?”

“So that's it? You think I´m too much of a posh boy to be wasting my time here? Like a normal human being as you would?” Louis opened his mouth to talk, but Harry was having none of that. “Is that why you´ve been ignoring me? Cause you think I´m ´too famous´ to be sitting in your very mundane cafe?” 

“That is not what I said and you know it”, Louis protested, growing increasingly agitated by the second. 

“Do I really, though? Cause I thought I knew you, but turns out you´re just as everybody else. You say you see me, Louis, but you only see the famous version of me you want me to be. And I don't care if it's because you're insecure or don't value your work here enough, but I am done with pretending you understand any of what I am saying.”

“Did you just compliment and insult me in the same sentence?” Louis asked, completely dumbfounded and lost in the course of their current conversation. Harry blinked a few times, probably thinking back on what he said, before he steeled his face again. 

“And what if I did? It doesn't change how you see me”, he said, anger back in his tone while he started to pick his things up. 

“What are you even doing, Harry? It's still pouring outside, you´ll get soaked in a second.”

“Af if you'd care.”

“Haz, where is this coming from?” Louis asked as calmly as he could, feeling the hurt bubble up inside his throat and making it hard to speak. He knew he could´have worded it before, but he didn't understand why Harry was suddenly so mad at him.

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that I thought I had finally found someone that understood me, but turns out he's just like the rest. And now I can't even come back to this cafe where I was sure nobody cared enough to recognize me and now I…” Harry´s voice gets caught in his throat just as he's about to open the door, Louis following him like a lost puppy, not knowing what to say or how to make him listen. Just as he's about to step out into the pouring rain, he whispers: “I really thought I was safe here”. 

Normally, the rain makes colors pop out. Light dances on wet surfaces, eyes shine brighter, flowers bloom taller. But as Louis helplessly watches Harry run through the rainstorm, all he feels is a dull, ugly grey, nipping at his skin and shaking his core. 

* * *

The first days without Harry feel like a blur. Louis was so used to having him around, that now that he's not there the cafe feels inert, quiet even when it´s at full capacity and dull even when he tries to decorate it as lively as he can. He's lost in a whirlwind of regret and anger at himself for not explaining it better. He's still confused as to why Harry reacted so aggressively, but at the end of the day, it's his fault. He did exactly what he promised himself he never would, and took Harry´s safe place from him. It doesn't even matter if it was him or the cafe, he took both of them when he started making assumptions about Harry and let them get in between them instead of asking him. And maybe Harry was right, he mused. Maybe he had done the exact same as the rest of the world and assumed things about Harry without asking him directly. 

He feels sick to his stomach, and he wants nothing more than to apologize and explain it to him. But he hasn´t got his number, he doesn't know where he lives and he knows Harry doesn't want him to look at his social media (ever since he found out, he hasn't looked once. It has always felt like crossing a line). So, he's back to square one, not knowing how to contact Harry and going crazy at the thought of him never stepping into the cafe again. 

* * *

As the days went by, though, his guilt morphed into sadness, and then sadness into anger. Harry had no right to treat him like that, to compare him to the rest of the cruel, heartless world. Sure, he did not correctly say what he wanted to, but he had never offended Harry or said he thought him to be a brainless posh boy. It didn't make sense and he didn't deserve for him to lash out like that. He had wanted to have a civil, adult conversation, and instead Harry had taken what he wanted to understand and left him no room to explain. He had left with all of his questions again, but this time they weren't pleasant. 

When a week turned into two, and then two into three, he started losing hope. Maybe Harry didn't want to apologize, maybe he didn't even think he needed to apologize. Maybe he wasn't even thinking about Louis anymore, having already moved on. Moved on from what? He didn't know. Maybe he was the only one feeling like they had been right at the edge of a cliff, but instead of jumping in together that had both taken a huge step back and had been left dizzy and confused. 

* * *

The day Harry comes back, it´s an orange day. 

It's not pretty or happy enough to be yellow, not angry enough to be red. It's a bit ugly but it still has potential to get better, and it's bright enough to be considered a good day (lord knows he hasn't had many of those in the month since his and Harry´s fight). So, he is a very neutral orange, completely unprepared for the thunderstorm that is Harry Styles. 

He is out wiping the outdoor tables when he hears his voice for the first time in a month. 

“What´s your colour today?”

Louis freezes his movements, but when the voice registers he just purses his lips and keeps cleaning the table. 

“Mine is lavender”. 

“Cool”, Louis grits out without looking up from his hands. 

He hears a sigh and heavy steps coming closer, before they stop a few feet behind him. Still, he didn't turn around, letting the silence loom uncomfortably over them. Harry had it well deserved. After a few minutes, Harry finally speaks again. 

“I was too dark that day, you know? I was an ugly, dark green, and I was so jealous of you and how sure you were of everything you are. And then I was red cause it made me so mad you didn't even think of asking me first and instead let this wrong idea of me grow so much. And I took my personal frustrations out on you, and it wasn't fair. It's just that I've been scared for so long of never being seen, like really seen, and then I met you and it felt as if I couldn´t hide anything from you. You _see_ me, Lou. And I was scared and I was stupid. I am sorry. I went back home, with my mum, to try to calm down, but I just felt so blue. I know you are the one supposed to be Blue and me Yellow, but every day without you has felt blue. And not like your eyes. Your eyes are bright and shiny and have lots of blues dancing in them. I felt a dull blue, the ugly type I´ve never seen in your hands. And I didn´t feel like I was home anymore. Cause even if I was very wrong with what I said that day, something was true. I do feel safe here, Lou. I feel safe with you. It´s the safest haven I´ve ever found, and I don´t wanna lose it. I am sorry, and I would like to win you back, if that's something you'd let me do.”

As Harry´s words grew more and more frantic, so did Louis´ heart, till it was too much and he had to turn around to see him. He was fidgeting, gorgeous and tall and clad in the ugliest knitted jumper he had ever seen, his hair disheveled and his cheeks rosy with embarrassment. He had never looked better. 

The first time their eyes met was electric. All of the colours Harry had mentioned passed between them, but the only one that stayed was Harry´s lavender. Louis´ own orange faded away and gave way to lavender´s soft blue and purple hues, hope blooming cautiously in his chest. 

“I am sorry”, Harry said again, softer this time, not breaking their eye contact. “I should've let you explain and shouldn't have lashed out on you like that. You are not like the rest. You are so, so very special to me, and I am so, so sorry.”

Overwhelmed with emotion and how much he's missed this stupidly kind boy, Louis can just let his tears fall down his face. Harry´s hand comes up, soft and asking for permission before he dares touch him. Louis softly nods, and then Harry´s wiping his tears from his face with the gentlest touch he had ever felt. 

“I am sorry too”, Louis whispers. “I should've asked you before making those assumptions. I know it's only you”. For anyone else, it might have sounded like he was making Harry less, but not for them. They both understood the beauty and simplicity of being your own, and nothing more than that. 

“I know Lou. And it´s only us here, okay?” Harry asks while gently scooping him into his arms. Louis lets himself be held, turns into putty after all those weeks without him. They hug till Louis´ boss shouts at him for taking too long to wipe the tables, and then a bit more. There are still things they need to discuss, but for now, this is enough. They are enough.

The first step they take together into the cafe feels like the beginning of a new chapter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think? 
> 
> Also:  
> \- Thanks to goldie for helping me choose the chapter name and giving me the inspo for one of the cheesiest lines I´ve ever written. Love you so much <3   
> \- Thanks to everyone who´s been hyping me up on twitter. Your support is what´s keeping this fic alive <3 
> 
> Hope I´ll be able to update soon, see you!


	4. Lost and found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no beta so sorry for any mistakes. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

Before Harry, if Louis were to be asked, he would've said love was red, or maybe pink. Even yellow, if the happy things people said about love were true. But he never would've imagined love being every single possible colour, and he definitely couldn't have imagined how he would be scrambling to find new colours to describe it. Him running out of colours was quite possibly the worst case scenario he had ever dreamed of, but when it finally happened he was the happiest he had ever been. 

After their fight, they had a long long conversation. They both opened up about their fears, their frustrations and everything they had been bottling up. Neither of them were willing to lose the other (again) due to unresolved personal problems projected on the other, so they worked on them. Sometimes together, opening up and helping each other as best they could, through their completely different life experiences. Sometimes, though, things were too scary to say out loud, and they would either go look for help somewhere else, or just ask for a hug. They spent hours cuddled up in each other, whispering their secrets to one another. It wasn't even romantic or sexual, it was just about the contact. About saying in every single way they could how they were right there, and they weren't going anywhere. It was about warmth and trust, letting themselves fall into the safe haven they had found in one another once again. It was about companionship, about losing the rose coloured lenses and seeing each other as they were, in their true colours. 

It made Louis fall even more in love with Harry, and that's how he found himself running out of colours. 

He was red and pink, sure. The passion and burning need to hold and protect was still there, and he was very much enjoying it. He was also happy and yellow, finding so much strength in being vulnerable and in letting his walls come tumbling down for Harry. He was orange, just because Harry was apparently the only person on earth who could wear it and still look good. He was green, when he couldn't control his jealousy for all the people who thought they were entitled to own even a little bit of the man he loved so much. He was blue, when he watched Harry shrink into himself when he got an email from his manager, when he remembered why he was hiding there and how someday he would have to face the real world again outside their bubble. He was every single possible colour, and he found himself changing them multiple times a day just to keep up with the kaleidoscope of emotions that Harry brought to his life. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and he realized how freeing it felt to let go of control, for once. It felt like letting himself get lost in Harry, in his love, in his arms, but finding so many things it didn´t ever feel scary or bad. 

It was something new and bright that showed in his paintings, finding new tones to every colour and finding new meanings to each one of them. He spent his days with Harry, and as soon as he got home he rushed to his brushes to try to portray what he was feeling while it was still fresh. He was constantly trying to capture the way he felt for Harry, and everything he found reflected back in those dreamy green eyes. He hadn't told him he was an artist yet (and either ways, it had been so long since he had last had an exhibition that he felt like a bit of a reach to call himself an active artist), but sometimes he wondered what Harry would think of his paintings. Someday, maybe. 

One winter day they´re cuddled up in a corner of a sofa in the cafe, Louis remembers something he had been meaning to ask Harry for a while. 

“Darling?”

“Yes, Lou?” He can't see Harry´s face from where the man is curled up into his chest, his back to him and his long limbs sprawled on the sofa (it is a lazy day at the cafe and they feel so comfortable, plus nobody ever really bothers to even look at them anymore, they´re part of the cafe´s furniture now). However, he can feel how Harry stops writing and tilts his head a bit to the side to show him he's paying attention. His heart swells. 

“Remember the day you came back? When you apologized?” He can feel Harry's body tensing, so he gives him a light squeeze and tightens his arms around him to reassure him. Still, Harry´s voice comes out a little strained.

“Yes? What about it?”

“You said your colour was lavender that day, and I never knew why. Why lavender?”

“Oh”. Harry chuckles a bit and sits up straight, Louis leaving out a soft whine of protest at not being able to hug him anymore. Harry turns around to see him and lays a hand over his knee, smiling warmly and caressing him softly. 

“It´s a bit stupid, okay? Don't make fun of me please.”

“I would NEVER!” Louis gasps out, his voice dripping sarcasm. Harry just gives him a raised eyebrow and continues talking. 

“See how I'm always talking about your eyes?” Louis nods and blushes a bit. “Well, when I was away I kept on trying to find the exact colour to show it to my mom- Don't look at me like that, yes I talked to my mom about you- but anyways, I was always trying to find your blue, but I just couldn´t. They all seemed dull or too light or too dark or just wrong.”

“My eyes are NOT lavender, Harry.”

“Would you shut up for a second?”

“Sorry.”

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, basically I hated blue cause none of them were the right one. But one day I had this really soft sweater I wanted to use, and it was lavender, right? And it was the first time I dared come near something remotely blue. And that day was the one I realised how fucking stupid I had been. Basically, the day I decided to come back. And I figured, if I could get to love blue again, if I could see it in a new light, maybe you could do the same with me and give me another chance?”

Louis just blinks at him, slowly processing his words while Harry nervously chews on his lips, not noticing how Louis´ eyes track the movement. 

“It´s stupid, I know, and it doesn´t even make sense now that I´m saying it out loud, but what I was trying to say is that I was lavender because it gave me hope, and I was hopeful because I couldn´t bear the idea of never seeing you again and…”

Before he can say anything else, Louis surges forward and kisses him for the first time. It's just a press of hot, dry lips close mouthed and hard. But then, when Harry catches up with what's happening, his arms snake around Louis´ waste to bring him closer, and he opens his mouth with a soft sigh. It feels like coming home, like finally putting a name to everything that had been swirling inside their heads for so long. It's not long or heated, and it's like they're just opening the door to the tons of kisses that are to come. 

When they part, they are both breathless and a bit shaky. They spend a few minutes just looking at each other in wonder, not needing to say anything their hands aren't already saying. The soft touch of Harry´s fingers on Louis´ cheekbones tell him all he needs to know about how precious this is, how Harry feels like he's holding the most valuable thing on Earth. His other hand curled tightly in his waist tells him how Harry knows he's not gonna break, and how badly he wants this. Louis´ own hands are frozen, one cupping Harry´s jaw and the other buried in his curls. After what feels like a little eternity, Louis whispers the words he's been meaning to say for so long. 

“I only called you Yellow cause I was afraid if I said green you were gonna know how much I liked your eyes, and if I said pink you were gonna catch me staring at your lips. I've wanted this since that first time you walked in here, and the day you came back it felt like you brought back all the colours with you.”

Harry doesn't know what to say, so he just kissed Louis again, reveling on this new privilege. They kiss until Louis´ boss comes and they have to part with red bitten lips, dizzy eyes and smiles so big their cheeks hurt. 

It feels a lot like coming home when you didn't even know you had been outside in the first place. 

* * *

The first time they go out on a real date, Harry wears a green sweater with a lamb on it, and Louis feels like his heart is gonna beat right out of his chest to try to live right there with that lamb forever. Their kisses at the end of the night, in front of Harry´s door taste like wine and pizza and too much garlic, and they couldn't be more perfect. 

The first time someone recognizes Harry while he's out shop thrifting with Louis is scary, but luckily the girl is really polite and promises not to tell anyone. Harry´s relieved smile is the brightest yellow Louis has ever seen. Slowly but steady, Harry starts getting less anxious about going out, even agrees to meet his friends. Sarah and him kick it off immediately and spend the whole night bonding over embarrassing stories of Louis, but he can't be arsed to care when he's watching Harry laugh like that. And anyways, when Harry spends the better part of an hour making it up to him in the backseat of his car before dropping him home, he doesn't even remember why he had been mad in the first place. 

The first time Harry cries with him, the first time Louis gets sick and he has to be taken care of. The first time they fight over something petty and then buy flowers to apologize. All of their first times create a rainbow of colourful experiences, taking up more and more space in Louis´ heart. He had always thought love must feel too big sometimes, that there must be a limit to how much space someone can take in your heart and life. But now he can feel how his heart is constantly growing, making a space for Harry and the memories they're creating. This is what it must be for the universe to constantly expand, he thinks. And he's got his own curly headed universe right here, making a home out of his very soul. 

The first time they make love is right after Harry blurts out his fist I love you. It's not a grand declaration with flowers and candles. It's an almost shouted “I love you and I don't care if you're bald” that Harry lets out when they´re coming out of the barbers and Louis is complaining about how they fucked up his fringe. He blurts it out and Louis stares at him, unblinking and waiting for the world to return to its axis, before he reacts and launches himself at his lover's arms. He kisses him breathless and whispers a “I love you too, but please stop making fun of my hair you hairy beast”. They go straight to Harry´s apartment, and they pour this newly confessed love into the other's mouths and skin. Louis spends probably too much time painting Harry´s skin with purple and blue bruises, in awe of the red traces his beard burns into his thighs. Harry tells him about every single song he has written about him, and revels in the music their skin slapping makes. When they fall asleep in each other's arms, it´s with ease in their hearts and the silent promise of all the nights they're going to spend together in the future. 

It feels like even if you sometimes forget where your home is, even if you lose it or break it or don´t want it anymore, they just have to be with each other to find it again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this one´s a bit wonky but if I don´t post it this fic will never be finished. Hope I can come back to edit it later!
> 
> Today I wanna specially thank Danielle. Thank you for hyping me up and complimenting my writing. It means more to me than you would ever know <3


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